


The Reverse Fuckbuddy

by celli



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Jon POV Character is Lovett, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: Jon doesn't want to talk about it, Favs doesn't know what he's talking about, and Tommy would like everyone to shut the fuck up.





	The Reverse Fuckbuddy

**Author's Note:**

> MANY THANKS to PODSA fandom in general and joshlymanwalkandtalk & electr1c_compass in specific for making this fic twice as long and four times as good as I could have ever imagined.

Jon collapses back on the bed, Favs uncomfortably warm across his chest, and tries to catch his breath. “That was - whoa.”

He can feel it when Favs grins into his shoulder. “Have I rendered the mighty Jon Lovett speechless?”

“Smug bastard,” Jon says and runs a hand down Favs’s back. The sun went down at some point, and Leo is keeping Pundit company in the living room. Nothing to do but lie here and--

Favs twitches a little and stands up. “That was amazing,” he says, but he says it over his shoulder, because he’s walking _away_ from the bed. He grabs his shirt off the dresser knob it randomly landed on.

Jon struggles to sit up. “Right,” he says. “Come back--” _to bed_ , he’s about to say, but then Favs, still facing away from the bed, asks in a strangely normal tone, “how’s Ronan?” and something in Jon stops dead.

“He’s, uh, he’s fine, I guess.”

“I saw you talking to him on Instagram last week. Good to see you guys together again.” Favs smiles over his shoulder as he pulls a shoe on. “You know, now that we’re getting more formal about travel arrangements, we should give you a per diem when you’re at his place on New York trips. You can buy him, like, an extra fancy dinner as a thanks from Crooked Media.”

Jon’s usual lightning-quick brain is slow as shit because by the time he’s processed _Ronan_ all the way through to _together again_ , he’s just hit _in an open relationship_ by the time Favs is looming over him, fully dressed, asking, “Did I interrupt? Before? Were you saying something?”

For the life of him, Jon can’t read that look on Favs’s face. He’s suddenly aware of just how naked he is. “Yeah, come back - anytime,” he manages.

Favs smirks and kisses Jon once hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lovett,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

Jon scowls at his drawn-up knees. He’s taking this too personally. Favs is making a totally reasonable assumption, given Jon’s relationship with Ronan the last year before they broke up, and--and lots of people don’t stay the night after they have sex the first time. Favs isn’t going anywhere. And Jon can explain tomorrow.

There’s no reason to feel let down. That’s just stupid.

***

In the end, he does the only thing he can think of. It’s actually the second thing he can think of, but Tommy just gives him a lecture on telling the truth that he didn’t need, _Thomas_ , which is basically the opposite of helpful.

“You banged WonderBoy,” Ronan says.

Jon glares at the fence in the back of his yard and throws the tennis ball for Pundit again. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re on the phone with me.” Ronan’s smirk is practically audible.

Jon makes a face. “I could just be calling, you know.”

“Jonathan, I know you. You wouldn’t be calling me unless the world was ending or you’d finally nailed Jon Favreau.”

Pundit brings the ball back, and Jon takes it automatically. “I thought we were really staying friends, not just saying that.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone line, and Jon imagines Ronan pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “We are texting and gaming friends at the moment,” Ronan says in a preschool teacher tone. “Not calling to gloat-slash-angst about banging your soulmate friends.”

“There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I’m not even going to start,” Jon says, and then because he can’t help himself, “because A: he’s not my soulmate, and B: you’d angst too if your soulmate thought you were still someone else’s boyfriend and this was just, like, a fuckbuddy thing.”

Ronan is still laughing when he hangs up on him. Jon is strongly tempted to toss his phone instead of the tennis ball Pundit is waiting patiently for, but he sighs and tosses the ball.

“I fuckin’ hate everything,” he tells her when she retrieves it.

“How come?”

Jon jumps, dropping the ball. “What the fuck, Favs, where did you come from?” And how long has he been there?

“Your house? You know, the one I have a key for?”

“No, right, obviously, I just didn’t notice, I was on the phone and,” _shut up, Lovett_ , “distracted. Anyway.”

Favs doesn’t seem to notice that Jon has lost his fucking mind. He drops down on the porch step next to Jon. “Work-related?”

“No, Ronan,” Jon says without thinking.

Favs goes still for a moment. “Yeah? And he’s still, you know, okay--”

Jon whips around to aim his apparently permanent glare at Favs. “Dude, I am not _cheating_ on my boyfriend with you.” 

“No, totally, I know,” Favs says over Jon’s strangled “Because--” and then kisses him, and fuck him but Jon pretty much immediately loses the thread here.

***

“You know, I think it’s good we’re doing it this way,” Favs says from what’s starting to feel like a familiar position cutting off the air to Jon’s lungs.

“Missionary?” Jon manages, setting Favs off into giggles. Making him giggle is normally one of the best parts of Jon’s day, and it turns out that making him sex giggle is basically the best thing ever.

“No,” Favs says when he’s done laughing. He rolls to his side, freeing up some oxygen for Jon. “I mean, like, not dating.”

The air seems to drain right back out of Jon’s lungs. “Yeah?”

Favs puts his head on Jon’s shoulder, looking down towards his hand on Jon’s stomach. “Like, I haven’t really done this before and there’s no pressure or anything. Plus I know you and I will stay friends even if we stop being, uh.”

“Fuckbuddies,” Jon says quietly.

“Right,” Favs says. He rolls off the bed and reaches for his pants.

***

“And then you told him the truth,” Tommy says, muffled from where his face is buried in his hands. “You did the thing I told you to do the _first_ time you hooked up and you told him the freaking truth.”

Jon is carefully silent as he fusses with Pundit’s collar.

“Lovett,” Tommy says, even more appalled. “Like, Favs is an idiot for thinking you and Ronan got back together without you telling us, at length--”

“Hey!”

“But Favs is--never mind, you can have that conversation with him.”

“It doesn’t need a conversation.”

“Oh my God,” Tommy all but shrieks. “Straight shooter! Calling things what they are! This is your goddamn brand!”

“Fuckbuddies _is_ what it is,” Jon says stubbornly.

Tommy just gets up and walks out of his own front door. “Tell it to the therapy dog!” he yells over his shoulder. “I’m going for a run, lock the door on your way out.”

“Well, it _is_ ,” Jon says under his breath as Pundit just looks at him.

***

Jon opens his eyes and takes a slow breath. He’s still here. Favs is still here, asleep next to Jon instead of out the door and in his own house for the first time. _It doesn’t mean anything_ , Jon tells himself forcefully, but every inch of those long arms and legs are wrapped around Jon, and it’s hard to remember.

Favs is heavy and warm against Jon’s side. Jon lifts a tentative hand and runs it over the head tucked into his neck. Favs mumbles something that sounds like “Lo” but probably isn’t and nestles fractionally closer.

Jon takes another deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse, but he can still smell sweat and sex and Favs’ aftershave hovering in the air.

There’s just enough light from the streetlights outside coming through his window to make out the edge of Favs’ cheek and chin. Jon can hear a siren from a couple of streets over, but Favs is snoring almost enough to drown it out. And none of it fucking matters. Because Favs is here, but in the morning he’ll ask after Ronan, probably, and leave. And the next time he’ll leave. And he’ll keep leaving, until one day--

Well.

But Jon closes his eyes and spends the rest of the sleepless night living in the world where he gets this all the time.

***

He’s the last into the office that morning; he pretended so hard to be asleep when Favs was waking up that he actually fell asleep for an extra hour. He opens the office door and freezes, still out of sight from anyone inside. There’s yelling going on, and it doesn’t seem to be about Republicans.

“--just fucking asking, excuse me!” That’s Favs, sounding more shocked than mad.

Tommy sounds angrier than Jon remembers hearing him since his vicious, drunken rants about FOX News in the White House days. “And I’m just telling you, I don’t run interference between people with the maturity of thirteen-year-olds. Tell the truth or walk away but don’t fuck around like this.”

“Guys?” Jon asks. The room goes deathly silent except for a small woof from Leo.

Favs and Tommy are on opposite sides of the office, pointedly not looking at each other. Tommy slams some stuff around on a table before grabbing Leo’s leash. “I am taking the dog you don’t deserve for a walk,” he says over his shoulder. “The two of you have twenty minutes to fix this or I’m gonna dish out a whole lot of home truths. And you don’t want that.”

Jon definitely doesn’t.

Favs turns awkwardly towards Jon as the door closes; he’s wearing shorts and a tshirt from his early run and Jon can’t look at his legs without remembering them tangled with his own last night. Favs licks his lips and says “I think--” just as Jon starts to say “So I guess--” and they both stumble to a halt.

“Go ahead,” Favs says quietly. He crosses his arms.

So he’s going to die here, and that will be great. Jon reaches for something clever and avoidant, but what comes out instead is “I never got back together with Ronan.”

“Wait, what?”

“And I don’t, I don’t want to be fuckbuddies with you.” _Shut up, Lovett, shut up shut up_ , he thinks. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Favs rock back on his heels. “I don’t want a fuckbuddy at all.”

Favs just looks confused. “So we should stop.” He half-laughs. “Just stay friends?”

“That’s not what I want,” Jon says miserably, “but I get it that you do. I just--Tommy said--I wanted to be--dammit.” He stops and makes himself take a breath. Favs looks...disappointed maybe? Mad maybe? He knows every look Favs has, why can’t he read this one? “You deserve the truth.” He shuts up and waits for Favs to be--God, fucking kind to him, Favs is constitutionally incapable of being unkind. It’ll be fine. Nobody ever died of unrequited love, he’s pretty sure. Favs doesn’t say anything, though. “You know, having feelings for people is fucking hard,” Jon finally says.

Favs is suddenly closer. When did he get closer? Jon tries to look him in the eye but gets his gaze stuck somewhere around his Adam’s apple. 

“Are you sure you get paid to put together words for a living?” Favs doesn’t sound angry or disappointed. He sounds happy. Jon’s heart is going a mile a minute.

“Are you giving me notes here, Favs, because--” Jon shuts the fuck up because, _oh_ , Favs is kissing him, big hands heavy on Jon’s biceps. Jon grabs him back.

“Hang on,” Jon says when Favs lets him up for a breath of air. “You didn’t--you’ve gotta say it too.”

“How can you not know how I feel by now?” Favs kisses his way across Jon’s cheek and bites his earlobe.

Jon hears himself make a high-pitched noise that is fucking not a squeak, okay? “Come on,” he says. “Get some skin in this goddamn game with me.”

Favs rests his forehead against Jon’s and sighs; his hands stop their slow crawl up the back of Jon’s shirt. “I don’t want to be fuckbuddies. I want something serious, something we can’t go back to friends from like nothing happened. And I’m more than a little scared.”

“Well, I’ve been scared this whole time,” Jon tells him. “We might as well be scared together.”

Favs finally looks Jon in the eye. “Deal,” he says, and when he smiles, Jon grins right back at him and pulls him into another kiss.

***

Fourteen and a half minutes later, Tommy walks in, slaps a hand over his eyes, and backs right the fuck out.

The pod is late that day.


End file.
